


the x number of days I have felt the nearness of you

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basket
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over breakfast, Kise asks him if he is happy, if it is enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the x number of days I have felt the nearness of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andreaphobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/gifts).



> For andreaphobia and an anon that asked for Kise/Kuroko in a meme! The meme goes something like this:
> 
> \- who cooks normally?:  
> \- how often do they fight?  
> \- what do they do when they’re away from each other?  
> \- nicknames for each other?  
> \- who is more likely to pay for dinner?  
> \- who steals the covers at night?  
> \- what would they get each other for gifts?  
> \- who kissed who first?  
> \- who made the first move?  
> \- who remembers things?  
> \- who started the relationship?  
> \- who cusses more?  
> \- what would they do if the other one was hurt?

Over breakfast, Kise asks him if he is happy, if it is enough.

Kuroko picks at the eggs, scrambled, in the pan with a pair of chopsticks. He turns off the gas.

"Did you say something?" Kuroko asks, as he deposits the eggs into a ceramic bowl. He checks the rice, when he passes the counter, scoops out a cup.

Kise yawns into the surface of the table. His knuckles, though, are white against the table cloth. White, and tentative, halting.

"Nothing," says Kise, and eats his eggs. When he's finished, he deposits his plate into the sink; he presses a tiny kiss to Kuroko's cheek.

"Mhm," says Kuroko, pushing him to the hallway, "it'll rain tonight. Have a good flight."

It is only later, with Kise halfway to the airport, that Kuroko remembers that Kise has forgotten his bags, and Kise, shame-faced and dodging his manager, comes home again.

 

 

The thing is -- Kuroko listens to everything Kise says. It is not hard to, out of natural reticence; he can interrupt when he feels the need for it, when he feels like it.

In Kise's world, Kise knows the value of people's faces. This much, for the sharpness of his chin; this, for the long slant of his nose, the barest ridge across the bridge. In Kuroko's own, there are only spaces, breathing thick with emotion and the knowledge that, perhaps, there is only one truth, and it is relative.

"There's a precooked meal in the fridge," Kise drones on, barely a day after his unceremonious exit, bagless and all, "and there are leftovers from last night's dinner in the vegetable crisper, somewhere."

Kuroko fishes out a juice box, from the freezer. He stabs through the ice with the flimsy plastic straw and sits down the kitchen table.

"Don't touch the health bars, though, they taste like crap. And I know there's a case of truffles from a client, in there," says Kise. "Or did you eat those already? Oh crap, can you eat truffles in class? Won't your hell spawns descend on you and propose marriage to you for the nth time?"

Kuroko takes a sip. He tastes ice water, and a bit of grape.

"But maybe Akari-sensei will bring a bento for you today… should I be jealous of her now? She isn't that pretty, right? And I think I can cook smoked ham better than she can, anyway," says Kise, heatedly.

"Ryouta," says Kuroko, patiently. Kise closes his mouth.

"Yes?" Kise says, meekly. Through the computer screen, Kuroko can't see if Kise's fingers are worrying at the frayed hem of his stylish shirt, but he knows they're there.

"I'll be fine," Kuroko continues, leaning forward to press a kiss to where Kise's mouth is aligned, "good luck with work today."

"At least eat at your mother's!" Kise hollers, even as his manager pulls him away by the collar.

Kuroko turns off the laptop, and goes to bed.

 

 

Fifteen years ago, Kuroko would never have imagined waiting at an airport for Kise, would never have thought of holding the man by his chin and quieting him with a careful stroke across the line of his jaw, clean shaven and covered with concealer to hide a nick from a razor blade.

It isn't happiness, not exactly; beyond domesticity is the softer, hushed kind of love, the kind that burns less with passion and more of devotion, the kind that makes patient souls out of all of them. Scattered arguments are small, and light, but pointed, all the same.

Like, say, right now.

"Bali," says Kise, as he flips through a magazine on the ride home.

"No," says Kuroko, both hands on the wheel. Kuroko's powers of misdirection never extend to his driving skills, at least. Kise trusts him more than he would trust Aomine with his life, but then again, not even Momoi trusts Aomine with her car.

"The Caribbean, then," Kise hedges. "Brazil? Puerto Rico?"

"No beaches," says Kuroko, keeping his mouth in a tight, severe line. "I thought we were finished talking about this last week."

"That was under duress," Kise protests. "I can't be held liable for my actions or words when you keep doing that thing with your mouth in a moment of passion."

Kuroko stares at the road in front of him, studiously ignoring him.

"And you look so good in swim trunks," says Kise, as a last ditch effort. Clearly Kuroko is underestimating his pressing need to explore the shore, preferably with Kuroko's body making indentations in the sand. "Okinawa's supposed to be pretty full up around this time, but I think I can pull some strings if I talk to the new photographer, or maybe to one of the agency's workers…"

"No favors," says Kuroko. "And no beaches."

Kise sulks, but only a little. Kuroko never said anything about swimming pools, after all.

 

 

There are some things that are different, and some things that are partly unchanged.

The first time, Kise had kissed Kuroko with the uncertainty of a teenager, the tentativeness of a boy expecting nothing to come of it; his mouth tasted a little like steak, from the family restaurant Seirin's celebratory dinner took place in, and there was still some gloss left over from an earlier shoot. His feet, they stepped away before his lips. Kuroko chased his mouth and pulled him back by his uniform's tie.

Now, Kise kisses him without hurry, without hesitation. He tastes like soda and leftover tonkatsu from lunch, like how Kuroko imagines himself to taste like. Kuroko pulls him by the front of his shirt; he backs Kise against the closet, and waits. Kise is all talk and suggestion, but Kuroko is the one who moves by choice.

"I missed you too," says Kise, voice fond.

Kuroko knows this part; he knows the way Kise shivers into his slightest touch, the way he fists the hem of Kuroko's shirt to push it upwards. He knows this. He remembers this.

Halfway through undoing Kuroko's shorts and curling a palm around his cock, Kise's phone lights up and vibrates, Aomine's smirking face spanning the screen.

"Shit," Kise groans out, "shit, fucking, god."

Even a thousand miles away, Aomine is the biggest, shittiest cockblocker in the history of all assholes with a grudge. _You're dating Tetsu, really_ , he says. _Okay, but I'm not buying you guys condoms_ , he says. _Don't fuck it up or I'll fuck you up_ , he says. The next middle school reunion, Kise is punching his face. That should make the headlines, at least.

"You should answer that," says Kuroko, helpful as always.

"Let me die," says Kise. He nuzzles his cheek against Kuroko's chest. "Better yet, let me just ignore him."

"What if it's important?"

Kise exhales, his breath leaving tiny pinpricks of sensitized skin in its wake. "This, coming from the person who barely answers my texts. And my emails. And my calls."

"That's different," says Kuroko. He smoothes down Kise's bangs, like he's considering pushing his head lower. "I see you every day."

"Tell that to my fourteen year old self," Kise insists. "I was pining. Like a tree."

The phone stops ringing, abruptly. They turn to look at it and wait, with bated breath.

It's Momoi's face that covers the screen a few seconds later, and Kise slumps forward, burying his face into Kuroko's hip. "Oh, fuck me," says Kise, already contemplating suicide, or changing identities.

"Later," Kuroko promises, and moves to answer the phone.

 

 

 _Kurokocchi_ is a name he hasn't heard in years, not after the slow progression of Kise wearing him down and worming his way inside; _darling_ is a word Kise keeps to himself, after Kuroko accidentally sloshes his shirt with a full glass of champagne.

It's only after Kuroko calls him by his first name that Kise follows, and it's always _Tetsuya_ he chirps into his phone, yells across a crowded hall, barks out frazzled and bone-dry, whimpers into his mouth like a prayer.

Kise never calls him _Tetsu_ , though. Kuroko doesn't wonder why.

"Oi, Tetsu!" Aomine calls out, waving them over to their table. "Over here!"

"Nice to see you too," says Kise, making a face. A group of girls from a nearby table point at him and take pictures with their phones. Kise doesn't mind, not really, except sometimes it makes Kuroko a little… tetchy, or as bad-tempered as he can get.

"I just talked to you a few hours ago," says Aomine, waving him away, "so obviously you don't count."

"Dai-chan," says Momoi -- Satsuki, now, Kuroko remembers, although in his mind he calls her by her maiden name. She keeps a hand over the swell of her stomach and uses the other to tug her wayward husband back to his seat. "Be nice."

"Yeah, yeah," says Aomine. He squints at Kuroko. "What's up, Tetsu?"

"Nothing much," says Kuroko. He touches the edge of the laminated menu and picks at the part where the plastic is falling apart. "The kids have learned to color in the lines, now."

"That's adorable," Momoi coos. Aomine makes his 'I'm so bored but I'll pretend to be interested because I love you' face. He makes it a lot around Momoi.

"Oh my god," Kise groans out. "We're like middle aged men now."

"Ahem," says Momoi.

"Middle aged men and a goddess," Kise amends. Momoi raises her glass of water to him.

"You're flirting," Aomine accuses. "Stop flirting in front of me. I need to get drunk before I let this stand." He glares at his wife. "You're sticking to water."

"Your concern, as always, is touching, Dai-chan," Momoi sighs, and turns to Kuroko to inquire about kindergarten rates.

"Waiter!" Kise crows out, and rattles out an exhaustive list of alcohol and a fruity beverage for Momoi, all in his tab.

"Fuck," says Aomine, as the pail piled high with ice and beer comes, "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

"Love you too, asshole," says Kise.

 

 

They get home past ten after begging off further pursuits of intoxication with jet lag, and Kise's the first to hit the mattress, face down and dozing without bothering to brush his teeth. He drags Kuroko down with him, his hold on his waist clumsy but tight, and Kuroko stares at the ceiling until Kise falls asleep. He takes off Kise's shoes, his socks, his clothes. He covers him with the comforter, and kicks off his own shoes. He falls asleep while counting the seconds between Kise's breathing, and if his belt digs painfully into his skin and his pants are too tight for sleeping in, he doesn't notice.

He doesn't think he'll ever get used to sleeping without Kise's limbs tangled with his, until he can barely breathe from the heat and closeness. He wonders when he'll get tired of this, if it will ever last. If it is worth it.

Kise, though -- he makes him forget to think.

 

 

When Kise wakes up, his bare ass is freezing, in the face of the air conditioner. He whines into the crook of where Kuroko's neck is supposed to be, underneath all the layers of cotton; he pokes his nose, cold, against his swathed throat.

"Should have gone with a futon," Kise mutters to himself. The only part of his body that is warm is his arm, dead and still under Kuroko's weight. He rolls onto his chest, pinning Kuroko under him. "Or maybe another comforter. A thicker one."

Kuroko shifts his legs, beneath him. The line of his spine starts to shake.

"You're awake," Kise accuses. "That's no fair, hogging everything."

"It's training," says Kuroko, "for when you do the summer collection."

"I'm so cold," Kise wheezes. "I'll die out here."

Kuroko pokes his head out of the blankets, his hair in disarray. He pulls up the blanket to make room for Kise. "Come here, then," he says, and Kise obeys.

Hidden under the blankets, Kise's face is dark, and imploring. "What do you want for Christmas," Kise asks. He braids the short ends of Kuroko's hair, to no avail, a pretense at disinterest in the subject.

"I don't celebrate," says Kuroko. "You don't, too."

"Oh, come on," says Kise, "we've been not-celebrating for years. I'll go stir crazy waiting for your birthday."

"It's only a month after," says Kuroko. "That reminds me, please don't book any spur of the moment flights like last year. It'll be a school day."

"Oh," says Kise, already thinking of the hotel room he'd book months in advance. "Damn."

Kuroko grabs him by the chin and pulls him down to his eye level. "Ryouta," says Kuroko, "please don't go crazy with gifts next year."

"Okay," says Kise. "Just for the record, what, exactly, constitutes as crazy?"

"What I would like for Christmas," says Kuroko, pensive, "is to read a book in peace, preferably as far away from Ryouta as possible."

"Haha, you're such a joker," says Kise. "You're kidding, right? Right?"

"I don't have a sense of humor," says Kuroko, and slips out of bed to change.

 

 

"Ow!" Kise yells, like a curse. "Holy, mother of--"

He's nursing a burn on the back of his hand, when Kuroko looks up. He presses his hand to his mouth, his teeth digging into the skin, and blows.

Kuroko puts the pancake batter down, and turns off the heat. He leaves the eggs on the pan, and takes Kise's hand carefully.

"Let it soak for a minute," he says. "I'll go look for the ointment."

It takes a while to sort out the tubes in the drawer, and when he comes back to the kitchen, Kise's fingers are twitching from the cold water. Kuroko pats his hand dry with a dish towel and carefully applies a dollop of cream to Kise's hand.

"You should be more careful," says Kuroko.

"I know," says Kise. "I'll leave the eggs to you in the future, I guess."

It's Kuroko that's more level-headed, at least, and if there roles were reversed, Kise would be crying into his phone and badgering Midorima, then planning the aesthetic appearance of Kuroko's altar. Some part of Kuroko thinks that he should be irritated, at this, but all that he feels is fondness, like he can't help it.

"You should go back to bed," says Kuroko. He bandages Kise's hand, and finishes it with a kiss that lingers on his fingers. He's -- smiling.

"Oh," says Kise, wide-eyed. "Um, okay."

 

 

Even in the lingering chill, Kuroko turns the AC on and sets the temperature low enough that Kise's ears turn red and his lips become cracked. His skin is more sensitive than Kuroko's, his hands poking along the furnace of Kuroko's inner thigh. He hides under the comforter and pushes Kuroko's clothes away, like he can't bear to not touch any part of him; he aligns their legs together even as Kuroko's toes ghost his calves and shudders.

Kuroko pretends not to notice, when he feels like it, but sometimes the delay is never worth the wait.

Like, when Kise's cheek ghosts the leaner slant of Kuroko's forehead, lingers along his brow, the bridge of his nose. Kuroko's answering smile is bare and unknowable, unknowing, and through the thickness of the half-formed, half-kept words on his tongue, he watches, and waits.

It does not take long for Kise to whine at his neck, to nose at his ear. Kuroko's wrists, Kise litters with kisses, his mouth commendable for its dexterity. Kuroko snatches his hand away; he lets it curl against Kise's half-hard cock, and clenches.

"Ah," Kise says, trembling, "not yet, not yet."

The oil, Kuroko snatches from the drawer and slathers over Kise's unhurt palm, until it spills out and leaves the sheets damp. Kise's fingers trace the rim of his hole, tapering at the edges and thin and bony against the softness of his skin. Kise likes to prepare Kuroko himself, something proprietary and greedy, and even as Kuroko hovers over him and guides Kise's cock inside, Kise's hands chase the motion; he strokes Kuroko's skin, sensitized.

"So good," Kise tells him, teeth heavy and leaving welts against the soft skin of his throat, "you're so good, so beautiful, shhh, easy, easy, Tetsuya."

Kuroko does not understand what it is that Kise sees, through him, past him; it could be nothing in comparison to Kise's sharp eyes, hooded with the weight of desire, nothing when measured against the rise and fall of Kise's chest, the exhalations that escape his mouth like tender buds. His lips work at the fraction of space between their bodies, open and close, open and close, and this softness, this heat, it changes something inside him.

It is only later, when the sheets are cool and the sweat that pools along the small of his back is dry, that Kuroko, undone, asks, "Why did you ask me that?"

Kise opens an eye to peer down at the top of Kuroko's head; sleep-heavy and satisfied, Kise rubs at his cheek, too insistent, until the skin is chafed. "Ask you what?"

"If I were happy," says Kuroko.

"Oh," says Kise. "I. I don't know." He looks at Kuroko's collarbone, at the tiny bites he'd littered on them before. "I just felt like it."

"I am," says Kuroko. He touches the swell of Kise's throat, the fine slope of his jaw. Kise shivers. "I'm happy, I think."

"I," says Kise. "I'm happy too, when I'm with you."

Kuroko hears him breathe out his name, rewards him with an indulgent kiss that make Kise's fingers curl and rise to meet the narrow breadth of Kuroko's hips to pull him closer.

"I love you," says Kise, like it matters, like it's his only worth. "Do you believe me?"

And, well -- Kuroko can be honest, in different ways.

"It'll be sunny out, I think," says Kuroko. "We should go for a walk."

"Yeah," says Kise, smiling. "I think so too."

 

 

Sometimes Kise asks him if he is happy, if it is enough. And sometimes, Kuroko knows exactly what to say.

 

 


End file.
